The Court Conspiracy
by The Dawn Shall Rise
Summary: "I believe I may be a tyrant. I have killed many, but would others take my word when I claim that I've ended those lives for the good of the empire? I have instilled edicts, but are there people who find such proclaimed laws oppressive? I have not risen this empire for the sake of the lust for power, but when I claim as such, do my people see a liar?"


**Greetings fellow writers, readers, and Disney lovers. My name is Crusoe, and I have come with actually a pretty random idea that has morphed into something of a story. I'm not new to writing in general, in fact, I enjoy creating written masterpieces for recreation, so you don't have to worry about the plot being rushed, characters being OOC, and stuff like that.**

**However, I do have a warning – I may not be able to update often. (Considering if you want me to update at all.)**

**So enough chatter. Kick back, relax, and enjoy this chapter. Maybe make a bowl of popcorn while you're at it.**

**Disclaimer – I don't own Disney or Dreamworks. Nor do I wish to, 'cause that'd be something of a nightmare.**

…

"_I believe I may be a tyrant. I have killed many, but would others take my word when I claim that I've ended those lives for the good of the empire? I have instilled edicts, but are there people who find such proclaimed laws oppressive? I have not risen this empire for the sake of the lust for power, but when I claim as such, do my people see a liar?" – Elsa Frode, High Empress of the Celestial Dynasty_

**Part 1 – Chapter 1**

_**Ending a War**_

**Ash fell from the sky. ** Elsa frowned, glancing upward as the lazy flakes drifted downward to coat the ground and dirty the faces of her subjects. A hand servant moved to place a parasol over her head but the empress waved him off.

Around her, Elsa's soldiers shifted their footing uncomfortably. They were men from the north, where snow fell as usually as ash fell here, in the Blightlands. In the far distance Elsa could see geysers of molten rock spew from crevasses in the stony, desolate earth. Ever father, across the forsaken valley stood tall a border of high mountains. The Ashpeaks, from where the constant descent of ash originates.

Elsa's snow-white mare snorted anxiously and bobbed her head, and the empress set to soothing the great beast, stroking her mane without a word.

A trumpet split the silence. It was not from her men, Elsa would have recognize the call. Nor was it a trumpet of war, she's heard enough of those sounds more than one in her young age should. Upon the far side of the plateau, an army began to rise from the valley.

Sigrod, Elsa's general, rose a spyglass to his eye, squinting the other.

"It's him, my lady," he confirmed, "Malikith."

The stoic general lowered his spyglass and gave his empress a glance, awaiting orders.

Elsa closed her eyes and took in a long breath. "Sigrod, do they hold the Flags of War?"

Sigrod rose yet again his spyglass and squinting his free eye. Two moments passed before he spoke. "No, my lady," he sounded surprised, "no flags at all. Do we advance?"

The empress opened her eyes and shot Sigrod a sharp glare. "And march against a non-hostile force?"

The general was not yet cowed. "It could be a trick, my lady," he insisted, brushing off fresh ash from the shoulder of his uniform.

"Perhaps," Elsa allowed, "and yet Malikith strikes me as a shockingly honest man. He is hard, I grant, but he cares for his people. I doubt he will risk war against an army such as ours, Sigrod."

The Celestial Militia was truly an impressive sight. With pikemen holding the front lines in a perfect row, protecting the spearmen and archers who stood at disciplined attention. All were dressed in the Celestial Empire's uniform of silver and black. Behind the archers stood the Ice Ogres, hulking creatures of Elsa's own creation. Not quite as large as Marshmallow, and yet not quite as keen, the Ice Ogres stood in a much less orderly fashion. While others grumbled among their ranks, some began to amble about impatiently, swinging their giant clubs of ice and packed snow idly. These monsters were made for war. Marshmallow was made for creation, the Ice Ogres for destruction.

All in all, with ten hundred battalions, a thousand men every battalion, and a hundred men per platoon, it was truly an army to behold. To place the cherry upon the cake, between each battalion and just behind the row of pikemen sat brass cannons. Fairly new inventions of war, the cannons launched burning projectiles at astonishing speed, invoking small, yet formidable, explosions. Elsa prayed that she'd never have to use such weapons.

"Gods preserve you, my lady," Sigrod said. His own stallion cantered back a few steps.

Elsa nodded in recognition to the blessing and urged her mare forth. Trot migrating into a gallop, Elsa swiftly made her way across the plateau. The hot air whipped at her face, and soot soon tainted the porcelain skin of her cheeks. The empress spotted a lone figure break from the opposite army's lines. Elsa narrowed her eyes at the nearing figure, and the steed he rode. A large lizard resembling a komodo dragon, only twice as long and fast. A varda dragon, venomous, and fast as a horse only with twice the stamina.

As she neared, Elsa began to make out distinctions of the rider. Long, raven-black hair braided into dreadlocks, pale, stained skin, a black, bear fur cloak. Malikith. Elsa slowed to a stop and dismounted. Malikith did the same.

The warlord king towered over Elsa, his stature truly impressive. Possible 6'7? 6'8? Malikith's black beard was braided, spreading over his chest. His right eye was missing, in its place a leather patch to cover the grievous scar. His arms were bear, scarred, and heavily muscled. At his waist, looped at the belt, was his double-faced battle axe.

Malikith was the first to speak.

"I see you've brought your forces to cow me," behind Malikith, the varda dragon hissed, swiveling its head to inspect Elsa's mare with an air of superiority. "I have faced much larger."

Elsa knew he did not bluff. Many records told of how Malikith triumphed again and again against near impossible odds. His legion of twenty thousand warriors were beyond formidable. No, Malikith did not fear her army. He feared Elsa, Empress of the Celestial Empire. A woman whose power was beyond that of the druids. Power over winter itself.

The empress smiled, "Indeed you have. But you have not come to battle, have you?"

Malikith did not answer. That's all the answer she needed. With an absent gesture, a low table of ice rose from the ground, plain and thick with frost. Chairs rose at either side, no more than stools with back rests. "Please, sit. I've brought tea."

Elsa guessed that a man like Malikith would prefer ale or a strong mead, but he'd have to settle with a dainty beverage. Elsa removed two tea cups and a tea pot from the saddlebags strapped to her mare and settled down primly in her low chair, crossing her legs. She looked up expectantly, and watched with concealed amusement as Malikith lowered himself down into the chair much too small for him. Elsa smiled again and reached out, placing her hand upon the frosty surface of the table. Immediately, the table shed its thick layer of frost, revealing underneath a fanciful and furnished table top.

"I gather you've never seen snow before, here in the Blightlands?" Elsa poured Malikith a drink as she made small talk, as if they were two old friends.

Malikith lifted his cool tea to his nose as Elsa poured some for herself. "It's not poisoned," Elsa said as she lifted her cup and took a small sip. The cool beverage washed down the empress' throat, soothing, like liquid sunlight.

The king held out his cup of tea and his varda dragon stomped forward, stretching out its neck as it sniffed deeply at the beverage. It snorted in disinterest and withdrew. Now assured for his safety, Malikith downed the cup in a single gulp. "Northerner's have such small stomachs," commented the king.

Elsa rose a slender brow in surprise. "And you Blightlanders take to eating an entire dragon and call that breakfast, with no leftovers."

Malikith wrinkled his brow, "leftovers?"

"A northern saying," Elsa waved her hand dismissively. "Perhaps we should discuss our predicament?"

Malikith fell silent and watched with his one, yet intense, red eye. The empress sipped her tea contentedly, showing absolutely no signs of discomfort under his piercing gaze. Years before, under such inspection, a blush would have tainted her cheeks. Then she was a timid queen, not yet ready to rule, overwhelmed that her people had accepted her for who she was – as impossible as it may seem – and was just getting used to being seen in public. Seen by a thousand of adoring and expectant eyes. Those were the early days, before the rise of her empire.

Malikith finally spoke. "You are right on one account, empress. I do not want a battle, but I also will not to be subjected under your rule."

Elsa paused, "you mistake me for a tyrant. I do believe that I am showing you great mercy, Malikith of the Blightlands. My informants tell me that you are running low on recourses, your trade partners had abandoned their agreements with you after losing an entire caravan to the perils of this forsaken land. Your water supply is becoming dangerously low, so low that you yourself are sacrificing your own personal load to your people."

Malikith had trouble obscuring his shock the further Elsa talked.

"And how have you responded to such a dilemma? By invading and pillaging lands neighboring the Blightlands' borders. You are overpopulated, and you wish to spread. Tell me, Malikith, why did you not simply approach me with the matter?"

Malikith chose his words carefully, "because, empress, your land is filled with vipers."

Elsa blinked.

"Vipers that bite without a second's notice. I approached Attolia's gates once, starving, hoping to make an agreement with one of your kings," Malikith stood, "I, along with my men, were fired upon on sight. To your people we are nothing but savages, _empress._"

Attolia, that was Markam's kingdom, entrusted by Elsa herself. The empress closed her eyes, perhaps she should have chosen a wiser man to rule those lands. Markam was young, a few years younger than she, and inexperienced. He inherited the throne to Attolia, Elsa cursed her foolhardiness for letting somebody so young rule a kingdom so close to the Blightlands.

"A proclamation, then." Elsa set her cup of tea on the table calmly, "I will replace Attolia's king if you swear fealty to me. You and your people will be welcome to leave the Blightlands and raise settlements. However," she rose a single finger, "you have to follow my edicts, my laws. I will not have your people raiding my villages or ransacking my cities."

Malikith crossed his beefy arms. "My people will not survive the travel."

"I will supply you with troops and caravans," Elsa finished her tea.

"A generous offer. Tell me, empress, what do you hope to gain with my fealty?"

The empress stood with breeze-like grace, ignoring the ash that fell from her platinum-blonde hair.

"Peace," she said simply.

Malikith took this in, and slowly began to nod.

"And protection."

Malikith paused before rising a brow.

Elsa dusted off her skirts. "Your army is made up of the most formidable warriors the world has ever known. You will assign a trusted companion-in-arms to become the captain of my guard, and your men will replace the sorry excuses I have in my palace. In return, I offer supplies, safe travels, and peace."

The empress found herself holding her breath as she watched the mighty King of the Blightlanders. The future of her empire rested upon the decision this man was about to make. Either fierce war will continue, and along with that, death. Or Malikith could set aside his pride and will allow peace into their lives.

"Very well."

Elsa allowed herself to breath once again.

"However…"

The empress glanced up sharply at the large king to see a smile widen upon his sooty face.

"I have a proclamation of my own. I _will_ swear fealty. But you prove your hand in a duel. No magic, no tricks. Do you approve?"

_Blightlanders, _Elsa mused, _always having to prove things through strength._

"You have my approval," the empress said, "who will be my competitor?"

Malikith grinned, his red eye twinkling under the promise of a fight. "Me."

…

When Elsa met with the general back at their ranks, Sigrod spoke.

"Do we have an alliance, my lady?" Two of his captains flanked him as he moved his stallion up next her hers.

Elsa chuckled to herself, "not quite, Sigrod."

The general rose a brow in question.

"I'll be dueling Malikith."

"_What?" _Sigrod nearly fell off his horse, "my lady, you can't! He'll surely attempt to kill you. You can_not _trust this man, my lady!"

The empress gave the general a flat stare before continuing. "I will ride out to meet Malikith like before, you will not interfere, am I clear, Sigrod? If I win this duel, he will swear fealty to the throne. He will not kill me, Malikith is in too much of a fragile predicament as it is, and he will not risk the death of his people upon my death. This much I know. Tell the archers that whatever happens, _do not _string a single bow."

Sigrod obviously didn't like this, but he gave a flanking captain a nod nonetheless. The captain spared Elsa a glance, that of respect and awe, and rode down the lines of their army, shouting the order.

The empress paused, "Nor are you to load a single cannon."

Sigrod's shoulders slumped, and reluctantly allowed the other captain to ride off as well to relay the second order.

Elsa smiled, _sly old man._

"Do not think me a fool," the empress righted her mare, "I would not have taken this challenge if I wasn't certain that I could handle myself. Grant me luck, Sigrod." And with those parting words, she was off yet again across the plateau.

Malikith awaited Elsa's arrival, planted in the stone his battle axe. He spoke as she dismounted.

"I have ordered my men not to fire, no matter what comes. I trust you did the same?"

"Do you think me a viper, Malikith?' Elsa smiled pleasantly.

She rose both hands and tilted her head back, closing her eyes. Blue magic began to flow over the empress' skin, and her dress transformed. She'd never be able to move lightly enough in full armor, so Elsa adorned a gladiator's attire. Of a fashion. Only her right arm was armored, the other was bear, while her dress split up one side to reveal one, yet armored leg. Elsa had been trained by the empire's finest warriors on how to handle a sword and spear, and how to properly counter with a shield. A sword would be too risky against Malikith, he had the height. Elsa needed the reach.

A haft of ice began to grow in Elsa's gauntlet, expanding longer and longer until he reached five feet in length. A foot-long blade sprouted from the head of the haft, creating a lethal spear. On her bear arm a round shield of ice flashed into existence. Elsa' circlet promptly morphed into a war helmet, wings growing from each side. Ice might seem to be not so formidable or durable against sharpened steel and iron, but Elsa's magic would hold firm.

Malikith rose a brow, impressed. Elsa resembled some goddess of war and winter. The empress, however, would not be pleased if the king relayed this allowed. With a grunt, the Blightlands' king ripped his axe from the ground, and spun the weapon in his palm with astonishing ease.

"If I win, I entrust my son to be the captain of your guard," Malikith said, "If you win, I will become the captain. And I will answer to you personally."

Elsa took this in as she lowered her spear, falling into a battle stance. Slightly crouched, ready to spring yet stile mobile. The two began to circle, like a wolf facing a snow leopard.

_Never make the first move, _Eugenedes' instructions echoed in her head, _it will allow an opening. Test your opponent, but wait. Impatience can cost you the fight, and along with that fight, your life._

Malikith struck first.

Elsa rose her shield and shifted her stance, bracing against the blow. His axe met her shield, and the empress withstood the attack, winter's strength howling under her veins, Elsa shoved aside the axe and struck her spear toward his foot. With a curse, Malikith spun, slapping aside her attack, and followed through with a slash for her arm. Elsa ducked under the swing and advanced, but was forced to retreat to avoid getting split in half by another viscous swing.

The two continued to circle. _Favors powerful yet quick strokes, making them short but precise. Won't allow to carry through with his blows to leave openings in his momentum. He's practiced and careful. Dangerous._

The empress deflected another blow off of the surface of her shield and rolled to the side as Malikith struck downward.

_Primarily on the offensive, yet hesitant. Perhaps he fears to wound me?_

"I underestimated your skill, empress," Malikith admitted as they began to circle once again.

Elsa smirked, twirling her spear, "because I am a woman?"

"Because you are so small a thing," Malikith mused aloud, eye twinkling.

"It's always the small ones that topple giants."

The two connected in an intense fury of attacks. Elsa managed to ram the butt of her spear into Malikith's knee. The king grunted and dropped his axe, but not out of pain. He grabbed the spear and tore it from Elsa's grasp with such remarkable speed, Elsa questioned whether or not it were human. She did not hesitate, however, and rolled forward, grasping the fallen axe, and coming up behind the king with his own weapon.

Only the strength in her limbs allowed the empress to hold the weapon. But she had no skill in wielding such a weapon. In her hands, it was awkward and uncomfortable. Eugenedes himself told her that such a weapon would not suit her well. He was right.

Malikith, however, showed no discomfort in wielding Elsa's perfectly sculpted spear, and he showed this as he advanced, thrusting outward. Elsa just managed to twist out of the way, the end of the spear scraping the armor of her leg. She brought the axe up and slashed downward with all her might. The spear shattered.

Malikith froze in shock as the weapon broke into a million little fragments, sparkling like morning dewdrops as they showered upon the stones. Elsa pounced, not bothering to pause, and slammed her shield into the large king, the howling magic in her veins granting her the strength needed to topple Malikith. The king opened his eyes with his very own blade held to his throat.

Without her touch, the spear had been only a sculpture, no more. Her magic held it together, giving the weapon endurance. But in _his_ hands…

The duel has been won, without a single drop of blood lost.

"Welcome to the Celestial Empire," Elsa smiled sweetly.


End file.
